As We Are
by Sasaria
Summary: [CHAPTER TWO ADDED] Masamune wrestles with his inner demons after the TGC, though they aren't necessarily regarding Midori, Yukimura, or himself. [Masamune x Hotaru - twoshot]
1. o1

**Disclaimer:** Aoharu x Kikanjuu belongs to NAOE.

 **Song:** _crack_ by Hatsune Miku

* * *

 **as we are**

* * *

 _I'll try to tie our strings together_

 _More tightly next time… so_

 _Please stay right where you are_

.:.

* * *

There are times like this when Masamune feels bad.

No, that isn't quite the word for the tumult of emotions spilling around like a blender in his stomach. That isn't what he'd call the fiery emotion that fizzles across his skin, across his thoughts, across his heart as he looks down at an injured and slumbering Hotaru. The TGC has ended, and though he came out of the onslaught with more wounds than both of his comrades, he still can't bare to look at the scars, the accusatory bruises, the small lacerations smeared with dirt that paint a picture of desperation and determination along Hotaru's small body.

He hates it all. Masamune hates it all.

Standing in the lamplight of his apartment, tender-footed, quiet as a firefly, he steals glances at the boy that's sleeping on his sofa. There's a phantom hand that grips at his heart each time he sneaks a glance at those slumbering eyelashes or those parted lips. There's thoughts —all equally accusatory and harsh — each time Masamune swallows the young boy's visage.

 _"It really is your fault, you know. It's your fault he got banged up like this. It's your fault that small body is so scarred. It's your fault."_

He wanders aimlessly around the kitchenette, idle hands and suspended breaths, until he can't take the numb feeling that pokes at him any longer. He lifts his eyes, erects his stance and walks straight toward the couch. On his way, he plucks up a wet towel that's been soaking in cold water for the past thirty minutes while he looped between guilt and excuses. When he reaches Hotaru's motionless form, something tangles in his throat, but he swallows it down and kneels by the sofa.

The first thing he notices —the very first thing— is how remarkable Hotaru's breathing sounds. Little breezes of air that tiptoe in and out. A delicately rising chest. A rhythmic heartbeat pulsating beyond the fabrics and wrinkles of his uniform. Masamune is 100% sure he becomes a bit light-headed at the thought, but quickly returns his thoughts to the present.

 _Stay focused, Masamune. Stay focused on the task at hand. There's no time or place for those feelings._

The wet towel finds its way to Hotaru's cheek and a few droplets trickle down the roughed skin— down, down, down until they escape beneath his collar. Masamune's eyes follow each droplet, and each droplet eventually leads to Hotaru's sloping collarbones. It takes everything in Masamune to avert his eyes and focus on dabbing the towel against the younger one's cheek. Regardless, his self-control is bending. Bending out of control and preparing to snap underneath the weight of his curiosity.

He chances an innocent look and convinces himself that one touch won't hurt. One touch won't…

Hotaru's skin is warm beneath his fingertips. Soft and warm and precious— just as he always imagined it would be. He even removes his glove just to get the full effect of caressing the boy's cheek. Masamune rarely touches anything with such care, such gentleness. There are the girls at the host club that he handles delicately, but it's different with Hotaru. His fingertips are like feathers.

As he roves his fingers back and forth, his eyes behold Hotaru's face once again. In particular, a small scratch across the boy's temple. Perhaps Hotaru fell. Perhaps he tumbled. Perhaps that monster Midori landed a hit. Whatever the reason, Masamune finds that the longer he stares at it, the harder it is to look away. The harder it is to look away, the harder it is to keep his eyes from becoming filmy and fuzzy and hard to keep dry.

 _"It really is your fault, you know."_

Dropping the damp cloth to the side, Masamune lowers himself, closer, closer, closer until his eyelids brush against Hotaru's eyelids and their breaths intermingle.

"Hotaru, I'm so sorry—"

As Masamune watches each droplet that falls from his own eyes, he can't strangle the last of his words out. He just hopes his tears will be all the words he needs to express his promise:

 _"I'll protect you from now on."_


	2. o2

**Song:** _crack_ by Hatsune Miku

* * *

 **「chapter two」**

* * *

 _On nights when the sound of the rain echoes in the air_

 _I'd hear your laughter inside my heart_

 _No matter how tightly I tied our strings of fate together, they still came apart…_

 _So please, hold my hands…_

.:.

* * *

That night, Masamune's dreams are filled with holes.

After convincing himself that Hotaru will be fine on the sofa, he navigates to his room and crumbles onto his bed. It's a slow fade— several empty minutes where all he can do is stare at the ceiling and slowly enfold himself in the silence. Still dressed in his survival game attire, he rejects the idea of changing into his pajamas. He must keep the day's memories fresh.

The smell of earth and rain on his lapels. The sound of bullets ricocheting from trees. The pain of defeat. All are still fresh and he'll make sure it stays that way. He needs to remember this pain so he can eliminate it with his own hands someday. But the stain of humiliation lingers along each of his thoughts, and he can only imagine the weighty disappointment Yukimura's feeling tonight, too.

A hand absently finds his abdominal wounds and he winces but doesn't pull away. His fingers explore the swollen skin, stroking the aching notches of flesh that took the worst of Midori's assault. He can feel the hole of the gun, Midori's weight on his body, the acidic sting and burn of each bullet that makes a temporary home in his skin.

And it's at this point that Masamune has to remind himself to breathe.

It takes several deep inhales and quivering exhales before he's able to calm down, before he's able to wash away this nightmarish incident from his mind. _This_ is something he wouldn't mind forgetting. He removes his hand but leaves his shirt rolled up to expose his injuries to the air. His eyes close, his mind clears, and he sets his ears on the silence again.

But then, all of a sudden, it isn't silent any more. The rain's coming down again in a roaring downpour, cleansing the night. So, for an hour and thirty minutes, Masamune slips in and out of consciousness. Odd-colored dreams that abruptly turn into nightmares. Choppy fantasies of faceless TGC players. Visions of a disapproving Yukimura. He sways in painful slumber until—

 _Until…_

"Matsuouka-san?"

A small voice pokes a hole in his dreams. A voice more resolute than his heartbeat. A voice that sends a cold shiver up his spine and a hot sweat across his brow. That soft voice is enough to immediately wake him.

Masamune's eyes search the pitch-black walls, the bare ceiling, the sheets spooled out around him before they arrive at the figure hesitatingly standing in the doorway. The voice tries once more, "Matsuouka-san?"

"Hotaru… What's wrong?"

Masamune hears the boy's breath pitch, probably surprised to receive a response. _He must've thought I was sleeping._

Masamune pulls away from the pillow and rests on his elbows. He'd be able to see Hotaru better if it weren't pitch-black, but the occasional flash of lightning provides him a glance at the younger boy's face. Hotaru's features suggest concern, and with all that's within him, Masamune wants to reach out and cling to him.

But he won't. He can't. He can't allow himself to be seen so pathetically again. The way he flustered and floundered in front of Midori at the TGC was enough. Any more displays of weakness will surely cause Hotaru to lose all faith in him, and that's the last thing he wants. Losing Hotaru is the last thing he wants.

"Umm… Matsuouka-san, the power's out," Hotaru says. "Do you have any flashlights?"

"There should be one in my pile of gear," Masamune replies shifting. His eyes dart toward said pile spilled out across the floor beside him. "But the battery's practically dead. I have a few spare candles from the last blackout."

"Where do you keep them?" Masamune can picture a smiling face saying those words. Just from the tone in Hotaru's voice, Masamune can tell the boy wants to be of help. Perhaps Hotaru's already lost faith in him? After the TGC and the pathetic show he put on, Masamune wouldn't blame him. But that doesn't mean he won't at least try to re-earn his comrade's respect.

He pushes himself up completely— only to let out a wince when his wounds cry out against him. A hand flies to his torso and he attempts to assuage the pain with caressing fingers. Hotaru immediately freezes up. "Matsuouka-san? Matsuouka-san are you all right?"

"Y-Yeah. I'm fine."

"Tachibana will get the candles!" Without any hesitation Hotaru splits from the scene into the recesses of the dark house. Masamune isn't sure if he should feel relaxed or upset. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, but continues rubbing his wounds. Yukimura had checked them over immediately after the TGC, but Masamune had promised to treat them himself. Of course, he hadn't, but he's beginning to wish he had…

After a few soundless moments, Hotaru returns. "Matsuouka-san! Tachibana found the candles!" As fast as he was gone he returns, and with the sudden clap of lightning Masamune sees the boy has brought back more than just candles. In his hands are a box of matches, a wet towel, and rubbing alcohol, too.

"Tachibana will treat you," the boy says with a smiling voice. "It isn't right to leave a comrade injured!" Masamune doesn't even have the chance to shake his head and tell him "that's not necessary" before Hotaru strikes the match, carefully lights the candle, and places it on the nightstand. For the first time since the thunder storm began, Masamune gets a good look at his comrade's face. The candle makes every laceration and bruise against Hotaru's skin visible. Too visible. Masamune finds his eyes wandering elsewhere, but his attention returns to Hotaru when he takes a seat on the floor.

"Good health is the key to a good life," the green-eyed boy says holding up the damp towel. As he speaks, his eyes pass over the swirling, circular injuries on Masamune's skin, causing him to frown. "But how did you get those wounds, Matsuouka-san?"

"Doesn't matter."

"It does matter."

"It was just a skirmish during the TGC."

"They look bad." Hotaru reaches up and taps one of the swollen areas with the towel. He moves from one area to the next with gentle, dripping movements, effectively bringing softness to each wound. The entire time, Masamune feels as if he's frozen up. As if a coil has tightened in his body. He's doing everything he can to keep from looking at Hotaru, but that proves to be more difficult than he presumed. The younger boy twitters along, attempting to wash away the awkwardness of the situation with conversation about health and vitality.

"It isn't good to leave wounds untreated, Matsuouka-san. At least wash them with a clean cloth and a little soap." He uncorks the bottle of rubbing alcohol, trickles a little onto the towel and dabs at one of the ruby-red welts near Masamune's navel. Masamune finds himself swallowing down winces and grimaces, but when Hotaru applies the smallest amount of pressure he can't help but recoil.

Hotaru flinches, too, and pulls the towel back with him. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine… Hotaru," he replies through grit teeth. After a few more moments, Hotaru continues his work, making gentle, _gentle_ strokes across his skin. For a long while, all they can hear is the onslaught of rain and thunder and lightning, so Masamune takes the time to assess Hotaru's face.

Guilt. Concern. Pain. Masamune can only look at that face for so long before he remembers why he brought Hotaru here in the first place. He jolts up from the bed and kneels down in front of the smaller boy, eyes flashing in the next clap of lightning. "Hotaru, I came here to treat you. Not the other way around."

Green-eyes dart back and forth, searching for an excuse. "B-But Tachibana doesn't have many injures…"

"Oh, yeah?" Masamune reaches up and gives a light slap to the boy's cheek, causing him to whimper and recoil. "See? Told you." He takes the towel from Hotaru's hands, turns it over to the unused side and pats at the small laceration on the boy's cheek. Hotaru protests at first with small swaying movements, squeezed eyelids, and a pursed lip, but eventually, he simply gives in to the touch.

It's at this point that Masamune begins to feel fire again. A hot, relentless spark that tickles his insides and compels his hand to linger a bit longer on the boy's skin. A stubborn flare that causes his eyes to sneak glances at Hotaru's pained face. A strong flicker that causes Masamune's throat to clog with desires that he's far too embarrassed to say aloud.

The silence must grate on Hotaru because after a while, he reopens his eyes and says, "Tachibana usually doesn't get injured like this. Just a paper cut every once in a while." He takes a moment to breathe with soft laughter, to swallow any hesitation. Masamune simply watches, but something inside him is beginning to snap, to deteriorate. His fingers tremble and his blood becomes hot. The pattering rain, the fragile look in Hotaru's eyes, the softness and warmth of his skin— all of it is compacting in on itself, making Masamune's urge rise at an alarming rate. And suddenly, the memory of holding Hotaru in his arms appears out of nowhere. After the TGC, he remembers embracing the smaller boy. Embracing him so closely that there wasn't a centimeter of space between them. He remembers the delicateness, the warmth, the vulnerability that radiated from Hotaru's body. And with that memory alone, Masamune knows he's reaching his breaking point.

"Lately there are more cuts on my arms and legs, too," Hotaru continues, "from running, jumping, and dodging. B-But survival games are fun. Cuts and bruises are a small price to pay. After all…" His fingers absently pluck at the blanket that's fallen to the floor; his green-eyes glow like stars from the way the candlelight spills into them. He momentarily hesitates with his next words, but finally they come…

"After all, I love survival games, I love Yukimura-san, and I love you. I don't ever want to give up—"

"Hotaru."

"Y-Yes?"

"Kiss me."

The words spill out of Masamune before he can control them. It's too late to rein them back in. A tidal wave of emotion washes over him, so strongly that he ignores his consciousness. Ignores the voice in his head that's telling him to 'abort mission', to lie and say he's just joking. Instead, he leans forward and meets Hotaru's lips with his own. A kiss as light and satisfying as a heartbeat.

He doesn't pull away, not even as the rain stops and the thunder ceases and the candle burns out somehow on its own. Hotaru doesn't pull away, either, but he can feel shock and surprise against the younger one's lips. Masamune only pulls away once he's satisfied, once the twinge and pain in his wounds disappear and his head feels blank. And when he pulls away, he gasps for breath and caresses Hotaru's cheek, saying, "I won't give up, either."

He hates how he can't see the expression on his comrade's face now that it's pitch-black, but he enjoys the flush of warmth that swarms Hotaru's cheek as he speaks. He enjoys the unsteady breaths. He enjoys just being here, in the mid-morning, jumbled mind and jumbled heart.

 _Maybe I'll regret all this tomorrow. Maybe I won't. But for now, I like being here as I am, as_ we _are. I wouldn't change a thing._

* * *

 _Thank you for the reviews, follows, and faves, everyone~! I originally wasn't going to write a second chapter, but your comments inspired me more than I ever imagined._


End file.
